


Dark Tides

by Whuffie



Series: Breaking the Wall [5]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alpha Trevelyan - Freeform, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 07:44:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4471046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whuffie/pseuds/Whuffie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This came from another writing prompt (Lygerastia - the inability to become sexually aroused unless it is dark) but it worked perfectly for an after effect of drinking from the Well of Souls.  </p><p>No longer comfortable in her own body and suffering a lack of confidence, the formerly healthy intimacy between Blackwall and the Inquisitor begins to falter.  First she pushes him away when he makes an advance for sex, but it gets worse over the next few weeks.  She clings to him for comfort and attention, confessing that she "no longer feels right in her own skin."  The two of them deal with the new psychological blow together.</p><p>Warnings: There's nothing extremely explicit in this story, but there's just enough that I didn't want to take the chance on rating it M.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark Tides

The first time Alpha and Blackwall had been together was a barely contained riot of two bodies, pounding need, and wild release.  She’d set the pace for most of the night, and it started fast and furious.  Any ideas or fantasies he had about their first time together being gradual were swept aside, and she ended up bent over the stair rail in a matter of minutes.  They released months of pent up tension, and all his plans to walk away from her evaporated.  Never once had she been distant or disinterested in him.  They’d spent time together tangled in tents and had a few adventures in the river.  One ended with his slipping on a slick rock and and dunking both of them.  Together, they’d ardently enjoyed every wall and piece of furniture in her quarters.  The hay bales didn’t escape an occasional moment of spontaneity in the middle of the night, and one night they’d both drank a little too much at the tavern.  They found themselves fumbling around in the room where she stored her bottle collection, legs around his waist, bent backward like a longbow, and standing on her head.  Once they were sober again they marveled at the fact they hadn’t hurt themselves, but she’d always been remarkably flexible. Day, dark, morning, noon or pent up full of emotions after his trial had never mattered to her mood.  They fought side by side and she went into battle with double blades turned into elegant fury.  She’d told him that if she had to fight hard she intended to fuck harder as long as he was interested.    
  
She was confidence wrapped in a lithe package topped with short, scruffy orange hair, freckles, and a violent streak which would have done a warrior credit.  Blackwall had only seen her truly vulnerable a few times, and any time it dealt with her emotions, she’d always been with him.  They’d relearned to trust each other in spite of the things he’d done, so when she began to flinch, he’d started worrying.  
  
It was the second time in a week that they’d awakened in her quarters and she’d recoiled from him.  Mornings were a convenient time for them to indulge in something more romantic than a quick thrill of celebration after a close battle.  Alpha’s blood got pumping during a fight, particularly after dragons.  If she was still able to walk away in one piece from a slaying, she was usually ready to jump into an extremely randy, private tryst with her lover.   
  
They usually woke up naked and moved to curl against each other on their sides, her back against his chest as he held her.  If she was in a playful mood she’d dive under the sheets and start licking, sucking, and teasing him erect.  Other mornings, he was already hard and pressed against the small of her back.  She wasn’t ever one to waste an opportunity.   
  
She still welcomed the closeness as he rolled over and pulled her into an embrace, but she’d started coming to bed in an oversized shirt for the first time since his trial.  She hadn’t explained, so he hadn’t asked.  Instead, he put on a loose pair of cotton breeches before laying next to her at night.  Although none of it seemed to be aimed at him, he began to worry something was wrong.    
  
A soft sigh of contentment whispered through her body, as she snuggled against him.  When his hand caressed her hip, sliding up under her clothing, she gripped his wrist to stop him.  He stopped immediately.      
  
“What’s wrong, my lady?” he finally asked, putting his hand outside her shirt so there was cloth between them.    
  
“I just...” she shrugged, staring at the last embers of the fire.  Leliana’s birds began to flit against the morning sky beyond the balcony, but she barely noticed.  “I don’t want to.  Not today.”  
  
It always made his gut clench up when she said something like that.  “Did I do something?”  Her forgiveness had been almost limitless, but if he’d done anything to upset her, he wanted to set it right.  
  
Turning over to face him, she rested her forehead against his and stroked his beard with her fingertips.  “No, it’s not you, Thom.  I want to be with you.  I do,” she insisted, “and I miss it.  I miss ‘us,’ but I can’t.  Not right now.”  
  
There were only two things that could have changed her so much.  One was that Well in the damned elven ruin.  He’d thought he lost her again.  She should have let the witch drink from the Well, but Alpha was always stubborn.  On the way to collect her dragon – Maker’s balls she stared the thing down! – she’d confided that she’d wanted to destroy the Well on the ancient Elf’s advisement.  That hadn’t been an option, so she did what she thought was the next best thing.  They’d been avoiding talking about it since then, like a giant lavender bronto standing in the middle of the room which they were determined to ignore.  Trapping her in his arms he kissed her forehead.  “This either has something to do with the Well or your mark.”  For once, he wasn’t going to let her argue.  Corypheus was dead, but he’d left the magical brand on her palm behind.  It still closed the occasional rift and killed the bastard, but it wasn’t ever going to go away.  
  
Grunting irritably, she turned her face, but didn’t struggle to get away from him.  He knew better than to push because it would only make her angry, so he waited.  On her own terms, she finally admitted the obvious.  “It’s the Well.  I met Mythal and as old ancient powers go, I liked her.”    
  
“Patricia,” he sighed, using her real name.  It was a distinct privilege that no one else had.   
  
“Don’t ‘Patricia’ me,” she warned, but snuggled tighter against him in contrast to her tone.  “I  know she’s someone old and powerful.  Maybe she is malicious and capricious but,” she trailed off because she’d partially described herself long before she’d encountered the Well of Souls.  “She seemed very human to me.  There was magic there which was well beyond any mage, yes, but not a an all powerful legend.  She’s not the Maker, and if she does show up demanding favors, I hope I’ll get to know her better.”  
  
“You said you had to do the things she told you when you were in the Fade.”  Blackwall never liked that, and he couldn’t keep the grumpy worry out of his voice.  
  
“I had to close the first rift before I met you, too, or it would have killed me.  I had to destroy Corypheus or the world would burn.  I’ve done a lot of things lately that didn’t leave me much choice.”  
  
“You chose to do all of that,” he argued, knowing it wouldn’t do any good.  It was over, done, and they couldn’t go back and change it.    
  
“I’m still me, and they aren’t really gods.  No matter how powerful, there’s always a way to beat anything if you learn how.”  It was the last part which could get her killed, but she hoped if Mythal ever sauntered back into her life that what the woman would want something reasonable.  Solas didn’t seem to think so, but he’d vanished.  She couldn’t ask the resident expert on elven lore when it appeared he wouldn’t ever return.  “That’s not what’s bothering me.”  She knew he’d argue for awhile if she didn’t turn the conversation.  He was the best part of everything in her life, and she wasn’t in the mood to butt heads with him.  “I don’t feel like I’m alone any more in my own mind.  There’s always whispers and voices.  I have no idea who they are, what they are, or what to do about them.  Most of the time I ignore them but there’s always something there.”  She shivered in spite of Blackwall’s warmth and the mild summer day outside.  “I don’t feel right in my own skin any more,” she confessed in a hush.  “I want to be with you, but it’s like being a stranger in my own body.  Just hold me?”  
  
His concern turned into deeper anxiety, squeezing his lungs.  “As you wish, my lady.”  What else could he do?  If he could have lifted the curse she’d brought on herself or drank from the Well himself, he would have.  What did the consequences to him matter?  Everything he had came from devoting his life to her and to the Inquisition.  
  
****  
  
Another three weeks passed, and Blackwall never pressured her.  They went fishing together, he finished a set of toy blocks for some children while she was busy with the Inquisition advisors, and some ugly brute which was a cousin to the Wyvern poisoned Bull with a nasty bite while they were afield.  He’d been at the mercy of a healer for four days before making a full recovery.  Everything was as normal as it usually was at Skyhold except for what happened in the Inquisitor’s private chambers.    
  
A large, four poster bed appeared several days after their conversation about the Well, and she began to sleep with the bed curtains drawn.  It got almost stifling in the middle of the night, but Blackwall kicked off the blankets and didn’t complain.  They’d be helpful during the winter, and he could stand minor discomfort to be with her.  What concerned him more was the replacement for sex became an almost clingy intimacy where he’d hold her for hours before she went to sleep.  Anxiety for her well being was turning into fear, but she refused to talk about it.  When her mind was made up, there wasn’t any changing it, so he did the best he could to comfort her.    
  
In the middle of the third week, he trudged up the stairs, rolling the stiffness out of his shoulder where he’d been hit by a mace. A warm bath earlier in the day had helped, but it still twitched occasionally.  They’d finally gotten back from exploring a site off the Storm Coast where several bands of scouts went missing.  Cullen had been afraid of darkspawn or raiders, but Alpha found a ridiculously bloated nest of giant spiders.  The men who they were looking for had been lost, but the spiders were eradicated with muscle and fire for everyone’s safety.  Ever since being pulled physically into the Fade, Blackwall hated the damned things more than ever.    
  
The stars were pale dots in the sky by the time he finished rubbing down his horse and battled Filcher for the brush.  That huge nug monstrosity of Alpha’s always lived up to his name, but Blackwall discovered how to distract him with bread dabbed in something sweet.  At least it was effective until Filcher decided to try to go through Blackwall’s pockets to get all of it at once.  Like everything else about his lady, he’d learned tolerance and ingenuity with the creature.  The easiest way to deal with the beast was to lock it up into a stall where it couldn’t work the latch loose, but that was always a challenge.  It’s front paws were more like hands, and the creature probably would have followed her up to their room and slept in front of the fire if they would have let it.  A padlock with the key hanging on a hook across the barn was his last resort for the night.  
  
“Patricia?”  He didn’t see any sign of her, but her armor was cleaned and on the stand.  “My lady?”  It was uncharacteristically dark in their bedroom, and she’d only lit a few candles on the mantle.  They’d stopped needing a lit fire with the new bed, so almost the only thing he could make out was the glint of candlelight on the scalemaille parts of her armor.  
  
“In here.”  A slender hand poked from between the curtains and gave him a distinctive ‘come hither’ gesture.  
  
“Is everything alright?” He stripped out of his armor and down to the last layer of cotton protection which went under leather and plates.  It wasn’t much more than loose, baggy pants which came to his knees and an oversized shirt.     
  
“It’s fine.”  Picking up a taper from the mantle she verbally stopped him.  “Don’t light anything else.”  The curtain was draped across her so he could only see her from the shoulders up, but she was naked.  “I ... please.”  It wasn’t like her to hesitate, and she gave him a small smile.  “I’d rather it stayed dark for now.”  
  
He didn’t argue, but tried very hard not to swear when he stubbed his toe on the leg of a chair on the way across the room.  He didn’t quite succeed.  Thom had once been told he could bring down an Archdemon with his profanity when he was in enough pain, and some habits couldn’t be quelled.  A muffled apology came from inside the curtains and he finally shambled inside the dark cocoon she’d made.    
  
“Sorry.”  He couldn’t see anything, but the sincerity was clear in her voice.    
  
“What’s this all about?”  With effort, he kept most of the surliness out of the question, but her hands were questing in the blackness, finding his.    
  
“This,” she whispered and her lips pressed against his with warm familiarity.  “I need you, Thom. I have for much too long, but this is the only way... I think I can be with you right now.”  Her fingers threaded through his and she guided his hand down between her legs.  “Do you think we can learn to fuck or make love in the dark for awhile?”  
  
The second one would be easier than the first because it was slower and less spontaneous.  They were going to have to be careful if they suddenly wanted to use the rails again.  Yet, if it was what she needed, he promised, “we’ll find a way.”  Wasn’t that what she’d said to him after the trial?  He loved her, and anything she needed, he was willing to do.    
  
By feel, their bodies entwined and they began to kiss again.  
  



End file.
